


Groom

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Ficlet, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:55:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21737194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Spock got a haircut.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 25
Kudos: 173





	Groom

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The longer Admiral Nogura makes them wait out in the hall, the more Jim’s convinced he’s in trouble. That’s understandable. He’s the captain of the Federation’s flagship, but with all that prestige comes plenty of tough choices, and Jim makes them with his heart just as often as the rules. They usually prove to be the right ones. He’s fully ready to defend all his command decisions, and he bears the responsibility for them alone, although he does appreciate the support of his chief medical officer. Bones has nothing to do with the Enterprise’s regular disregard for all regulations, but he’s there anyway. Only fifteen minutes later, Spock joins them as well, shuffling down the hall at a clipped pace. Most people would probably look at Spock and think he’s just moving efficiently, but Jim knows Spock well enough to see the subtle signs that he’s rushing, fully aware he’s late.

More notable than his speed is the dark blue knitted hat around the top of his head. He finally reaches their bench and pulls to stiff attention, greeting, “My apologizes for my tardiness, Captain. I was... delayed.”

“With what?” Bones snorts. “Accessorizing?”

Spock lifts one carefully arched brow and chooses not to respond. Instead, he turns and inserts himself onto the bench right between them. Jim shuffles back to make room, his bag nearly falling over the end, but Bones stays exactly where he is. The admiral’s door is still firmly closed, the rest of the corridor barren. Jim takes that quiet moment to take a mental of picture of Spock in his new hat, because Spock in hats is _always_ cute.

Usually, there’s a good reason for it. They hide his ears, giving him the illusion of pure human ancestry. But there is no need to appear human in Starfleet’s headquarters on Earth. San Francisco is one of the most diverse cities they have. 

Jim notes, “An excellent fashion choice, Commander.” Spock shoots him a dry look. Jim can tell the hat _definitely_ has purpose. Jim just can’t see what that purpose is. 

Spock obliges, “I had a haircut, and unfortunately, the appointment ran long. It will not happen again.”

Jim tilts his head, examining what little he can see of the black hair poking out beneath the hat. That part looks as smooth and even as usual. Somehow, Jim had never thought about how Spock got his hair so perfect before. Perhaps Jim subconsciously figured Vulcans were all born that way, or else they’re all secret barbers well stocked with gel. 

But that does remind Jim: “I should make an appointment while we’re on Earth, too.” He turns to the bag sitting on his other side and fishes out a tablet, quickly flicking it on. As he pulls up the business database, he asks, “Where’d you go?”

“Mr. Neelix’s Mr. Vulcan Emporium,” Spock responds. Jim instantly pulls it up, only to stifle a quick laugh and move the tablet over so Bones can see the screen. The front page boasts a rather wordy introduction about how they get the perfect Vulcan cut every time, with several dozen examples underneath, all labeled as different styles, but they all look exactly the same. Jim scrolls through a few just for fun, even zooming in occasionally, but he can’t spot any notable differences. It’s like looking at thirty or so slightly less handsome Spocks. 

Bones asks, “If you just got your haircut, why’re you hiding it? Did they frost your tips or something?”

Momentary confusion flickers over Spock’s face, likely at the term ‘frosted tips’, but then he conceals it as carefully as ever and retorts, “It does not matter.”

“What? Of course it matters! If you have blond spikes in the front, I need to see that!” Bones is the one spluttering protest, but Jim fully agrees.

Spock insists, “This is not something that needs to be discussed.”

“Like hell it isn’t—take the hat off, or we’ll take it off for you.”

Spock gives Bones an incredulous look for the clear threat, only to turn to Jim as though looking for a more reasonable mediator. Jim’s completely torn between the two. Of course he wouldn’t actually let Bones wrestle Spock’s clothes off, not unless Spock was into it and they were in the privacy of one of their quarters, but he _does_ want to see his first officer’s new look. Jim tries a softer approach, simply asking: “If you wouldn’t mind, Mr. Spock.”

Spock clearly would mind. But he does so anyway. He lifts his hands and carefully peels back the hat, bringing it down into his lap, and takes a visibly deep breath. Jim stares at the hair left behind.

Bones grumbles, “What the hell? It looks exactly the same!”

Jim can’t help laughing. Spock tightly counters, “It does _not_. The bangs are precisely three millimeters shorter than I requested. The part is not even. There is a clear delineation across the back. The left sideburn is slightly more defined than the right one. There are three hairs behind—”

“You look great,” Jim cuts in. His grin is one of the widest it’s ever been: that sort of warm, bristling fondness that only Spock can pull out of him. He promises, “You’re perfect.”

Spock’s cheeks stain a faint green. His frown remains intact, but Jim can feel the eased worry beyond it. Bones mutters, “Oh, brother...”

But Jim’s opinion must be the one that counts, because when Admiral Nogura finally invites them into his office, Spock doesn’t put the hat back on.


End file.
